


keep playing

by lookingforatardis



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Filming, Fluff, M/M, Music, This is abandoned, but like sad sometimes, gratuitous mentions of playing the guitar and piano, soooo many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: "You play guitar too?""Better than piano.""I don't believe you," Timmy shook his head.  Armie smiled and shrugged, let his eyes close. "Prove it.""Name the time, Chalamet," Armie said, but he was already drifting off in the summer sun.Or, the Music Fic I have always wanted for these two. Scenes centered around the sharing of music during filming.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 80
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Update as of January 2021 - this, like my other WIPs, will not be completed. I am no longer writing for this ship, so don’t expect an update! Read ahead if you want, but know this is a little open ended (though tbh the og plan was to end it at ch3 anyway)

The sunlight streamed in through the windows, warming the tiles Armie walked barefoot on as he heard the familiar melody echo the halls. He followed the sound with a smile and a hand through his hair, a nod at a crew member seeking out Luca. The culprit sat slumped on the piano bench and, as his fingers stumbled on a progression, he huffed out a frustrated groan. Armie approached and nudged him to scoot over. "I should have this memorized," Timmy muttered. "I keep messing it up, I can't connect the movements."

"Teach me," Armie suggested, his back straightening as he peered over at Timmy's incredulous look. "Come on, teach me maestro," he teased, nudging his shoulder. It was the first day they were in the villa, the first time Timmy was plucking away at the piano he'd be filmed on throughout the shoot. It intimidated him.

"You're not the one who has to do it."

"No, but if you can teach it to me, you'll know it better yourself. Come on," Armie said, lifting his hands to the keys and looking pointedly at them with a confident smile. Timmy rolled his eyes and began playing, slowing it down. "Nope, you have to tell me, don't just show me." Timmy grumbled but did as he was asked, Armie fumbling here and there. With each note he missed, Timmy corrected him, his fingers shifting over to show him the right notes or hands covering Armie's to get the correct pattern. Time passed as the two went through it slowly, the parts previously tripping Timmy up now melodic to his ears as Armie played them an octave down. "See?"

"Shut up," Timmy smiled, nodding as if to tell Armie to play it again, this time a little faster.

Luca had been upstairs scribbling notes on the latest copy of the script when he finally registered what had been happening. The sounds of laughter and missed keys and the beautiful pieces chosen for the film floated up the stairs into the room he sat in until finally he asked someone what was happening. "They're bonding," he was told.

"Bonding?"

"Playing the piano together." The clarification only intrigued him more.

"Armie and Timothée?"

"Your Elio and Oliver, yes." Luca made his way down the stairs slowly, the sound of Timmy's laughter wafting through the villa as Armie intentionally played each note a half step off, Timmy shouting _No fuck stop it sounds terrible!_ He rounded the corner and peered into the room with the curiosity of a parent seeing his child with his first crush.

"Play it then, if you're so picky." Luca smiled at the tone in Armie's voice, just as he had always imagined Oliver to be.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"And what am I doing?"

"You're tricking me into practicing."

"Oh I don't think I need to trick you to do that." Timmy had started playing the piece all the same and Luca leaned against the doorframe, eyes misting as a knot formed in his stomach at the sight before him. They had known each other four days only, and already Luca knew: there was no one else who could possibly play these roles.

They'd just finished a read through at his home when Luca stumbled upon them. Timmy was sprawled out on his back, script held above his head as he read lines quietly, twisting his body to look at Armie to ask questions periodically. Luca sensed he wasn't needed (or wanted, for that matter) and stepped out with a fond smile.

Armie was playing Elio's Bach piece at half time, still a little uncertain of the notes. Timmy called them out when he paused too long, eventually giving up and sitting next to him to show him the next bit until Armie stopped playing altogether and Timmy let the notes drift into each other seamlessly.

"You're getting better," Armie noted.

"No thanks to you." Armie turned and looked at him with a question in his eyes. "I'm supposed to tell you to stop going to my rehearsals," Timmy admitted, shifting his shoulders with a twist of his lips. "Apparently you distract me." Armie laughed, head thrown back momentarily. "Shut up!" Timmy blushed.

"That's fucking priceless. Oh my god." Armie looked back at him with a wide grin, his hands lifting so they landed on his shoulders. Timmy's fingers stumbled and stopped on the piano as he shook him lightly. "Am I a _distraction_?" he drew out, almost like a song.

"Oh fuck off," Timmy laughed, shoving him. "It's because you keep trying to steal my lessons! I'm supposed to practice, not you."

"Oh sure, sure. I'm sure it has _nothing _to do with how charming I am."

"I hate you," Timmy laughed, standing from the piano and headbutting him when he tried to pull him into a hug. Timmy looped his arms around his waist reluctantly with a grumble that made Armie laugh deep in his chest under Timmy's ear.

Timmy was sitting crisscross on the couch, glaring over his script at Armie tinkering on the piano. "You know _I'm _Elio, right?" he said.

"Call me by your name," Armie threw over his shoulder, running through one of Timmy's pieces he'd picked up practically by ear. "I'm technically Elio, too."

"You're so full of shit." Armie laughed at that, his full bellied laugh that even if Timmy tried not to smile at, he failed.

"Boys." Both startled and looked over at Luca as he smirked in the doorway with a gesture for them to follow him. "Bring your scripts."

They'd ended up sprawled out on the grass, Armie long ago rolled on top of Timmy with his hand on his neck like an anchor as Timmy wrapped his legs around his waist in a way he had never done with anyone, the instinct immediate when Armie pressed down on his body, his tongue in his mouth, sweat on his skin. Armie's hair was coarser than he anticipated under his palms, between his fingers, and his hands were sturdy, massive, and rough against his skin. He felt like he was on fire, the recent memory of Armie playing the piano and telling him he was Elio too still present in his mind as he thought, yes, perhaps he is, perhaps we are both Elio and Oliver because they are both as well.

Armie had rolled off of him eventually, neither talking when their nervous laughter subsided after realizing they'd been abandoned. Timmy sat up and reached for Armie's hand, the one that had pressed against his cheek and jaw, held him by his shoulder and rested against his neck. Armie watched with mild curiosity as Timmy brushed his fingers across the skin. "Your hands are a lot rougher than a girl's," he mused, which earned a deep chuckle from Armie.

"I have manly calluses," he laughed, and Timmy grinned for no reason in particular. He ran his fingertips over Armie's and looked up when Armie hummed. "You'll get those if you haven’t already."

"Get what?"

"The rough spots, they're from guitar strings."

"You play guitar too?"

"Better than piano."

"I don't believe you," Timmy shook his head. Armie smiled and shrugged, let his eyes close. "Prove it."

"Name the time, Chalamet," Armie said, but he was already drifting off in the summer sun.

"Fuck, that's not even fair!" Timmy whined, eyes wide and mouth agape as Armie chuckled, grin spread out over his lips as he kept his eyes on the fretboard. "Jesus."

"Careful, Timmy—you sound a little flustered over there."

"Fuck you," Timmy shook his head, but felt a blush rise up the back of his neck as he watched Armie pick a riff with his fingers like he'd done it a hundred times. He probably had. Timmy blinked his eyes up from the fingers to watch Armie as he picked up the pace and swapped to a chord progression, his lips twitching before a calm settled over his features. When he looked up at Timmy, he smirked.

"I told you."

"I hate you so much." Armie laughed softly and extended a leg to nudge Timmy's on the floor of his apartment where they were pleasantly buzzed. "How do you make it look so easy?" Timmy asked, scooting forward on his knees to sit closer, eyes entranced as Armie played around with his guitar.

"Years of practice," he shrugged.

"Not good enough."

"Oh you want me to teach you how to fake it," Armie mused, smirk on his lips as he plucked out the chords more rhythmically before letting his palm mute the chords as he stopped and met Timmy's eyes.

"Yeah," Timmy nodded, rolling his eyes with a small smile. "Teach me how to fake it."

"I don’t know, I've never had to before." Timmy hummed and tried not to smirk at Armie’s tone as he started playing again with his grin wide and full of mischief.

With all the confidence Timmy believed Elio to have in his moments of boldness, he pressed the heels of his hands into Armie's shoulders to pin him against the wall he was resting against. "Show me how to make it look natural." Armie's eyebrows flicked up. "Please." Timmy wouldn't let his eyes drop, sensing in that moment he had some sort of pull he didn't understand yet.

"Okay," Armie said, but that grin was still in place. They adjusted positions so Timmy could hold the guitar, their knees pressed together where they sat crisscross. "Play."

Timmy was suddenly nervous as he stretched his fingers, pulled his lip between his teeth and carefully laid his hands across the neck of the guitar. He glanced up at Armie quickly before dropping his eyes and stretching his fingers to the right frets to start. Armie hummed. "Already? Am I already doing it wrong?" he asked incredulously.

"No," Armie laughed softly, "Please, go on." Timmy eyed him wearily. "Please. Sorry I'll be quiet." Timmy held his gaze for a moment, felt his shoulders slump as Armie's eyes seemed to soften. "Play," he said, a bit more hushed. So Timmy did, fumbling with the strings and wincing when one of the chords required his fingers to stretch, his hand still not used to it even though the piano had certainly loosened him up. He stopped, looked up at Armie shyly.

"Breathe," he said. Timmy scrunched up his face. "You look stressed, you should look effortless," Armie explained. He reached out and slid his hand down Timmy's right arm, starting at the shoulder until his fingers rested at his wrist. The effect was immediate-- his arm relaxed under the touch until it rested against the body of the guitar. "Better," he smiled, letting his fingers fit between Timmy's until he could press his pinky down against the pick guard. "To stabilize you," he explained. "Try it again."

Timmy swallowed hard and blinked down at the frets, took a deep breath, and nodded. When he played it again, he could tell he was concentrating too hard when Armie's hand covered his shoulder, to release the tension. He sighed, kept playing it on a loop until Armie hummed again. He looked up and saw him staring openly at Timmy's face.

"What?"

"That's nice," Armie smiled, his eyes shining with a glint in them. "Play it again, will you?"

"Oh my god," Timmy laughed as his head lulled back. "I don't have a piano, I can't tell you to follow me," he teased, his left hand falling into his lap. Armie smiled and took the guitar from Timmy, ran his hand over the neck of it as he let his eyes wander. "Are you nervous?" Timmy asked suddenly.

Armie began strumming one of the chords in Timmy's piece and shrugged. "A little, but mostly excited to finally start."

"Yeah, me too," Timmy nodded with a hand folded under his chin, his other arm hooked around his torso as he watched Armie play. He'd never completely understood the appeal, but he could see it now, how the way Armie handled the instrument was somehow attractive. He thought it must be what Oliver felt in those moments, how he must have watched Elio play the chords the same way Armie could and wanted more of those hands.

He blushed and looked away from Armie.

"It's crazy. It feels like we've already started, you know?" Armie mused as he leaned the guitar up in its stand nearby.

"I know what you mean. Feels like I've been Elio forever, and I haven't even filmed any scenes." Armie pulled one of Timmy's feet into his lap with a half-smile and rubbed at the arch. "That’s not helping," he laughed faintly. Armie grinned back but didn't stop.

"I'm not sure I can be the right Oliver," Armie said after a moment, his hands halted on Timmy's ankle as his foot rested on his thigh. Timmy sat with his hands behind him, propping him up as he watched something flash across Armie's face. He had yet to see his self-doubt in action, though he knew from Luca it existed.

"That’s bullshit." Armie smiled and let his thumb swipe over Timmy's skin. "Armie—seriously shut up. You're perfect."

"Well I wouldn't go that—"

"I would," Timmy said, nudging him with his toes. "You're my Oliver. Period. Look at you," he said, gesturing with a hand to his own foot resting on Armie's leg. "You're perfect. Luca couldn't have found a better match." His face felt warm at admitting how strongly he felt about it, but it seemed important he let Armie know. "I trust you implicitly with this movie."

"You barely know me," Armie countered.

"I beg to differ." Armie met his eyes and sighed. After a moment of silence, he tugged Timmy's foot until he was sliding on the floor over to him, and then Armie was wrapping him up in a somewhat awkward hug. Half in an effort to ease the awkwardness and half just because he felt it was what Elio would do, Timmy climbed into his lap to more easily wrap his arms around him. Armie let out a surprised huff but let his head fall against Timmy's shoulder without question. "This wouldn't feel safe with just anyone," Timmy said quietly, his hand balled into a fist as it lightly hit Armie's back for emphasis.

"I know," Armie nodded, his head shifting so he faced Timmy's neck, his breath puffing out and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Lean on me, okay? Like you said I could lean on you. It's a two-way street now." Armie sighed and tightened his arms around Timmy's waist in acknowledgement of what he'd said. Timmy hesitated, but only for a moment before dragging his hands up Armie's back to wind around his neck, one of his hands slipping into Armie's hair to scratch his scalp. Another soft hum of approval left Armie's lips as his arms went slack.

"You're my Elio," he said quietly, though his voice was deep and clear. "No one else would feel right for me either."

"Good," Timmy smiled, his heart lurching in his chest. The lines already felt a little blurred, but it felt exciting almost, like he was on the cusp of giving himself over to his character. He felt full of promise as he pulled away and smiled tenderly at Armie, even more so when Armie rolled his eyes and shifted him off his lap with a playful quip and a helping hand to get them both on their feet so Armie could return to his apartment for the night.

Timmy stayed up another twenty minutes practicing the guitar. His fingers were sore as hell when he finished, but it felt worth it.

"Back at it?" Armie mused as he walked into Luca's living room to find Timmy on the piano. "You haven’t practiced enough yet?"

"I still have scenes, I have _this_ scene," he said almost in defense with a nod to his hands as he played one of his pieces. "And besides, it calms me down."

"Why do you need to calm down?" Armie asked as he sat down next to him. Timmy shrugged. "_Timmy._"

"Does it feel… weird to you?" Timmy asked, hands falling into his lap. "Forget it."

"Does what feel weird?" Timmy shook his head, felt his brows lower when Armie placed a hand on his knee.

"It's like it doesn't stop," he looked at Armie. "The camera does but we don't. Does that make sense?"

"Like you're still Elio, you mean?" Timmy nodded. "Maybe that has something to do with you sitting in an Italian villa playing the piano because you need to calm down," he smiled, bumping his shoulder against Timmy's.

"I know you're joking but," Timmy shook his head and looked at the piano. "It's like there's this version of myself, the Elio-me, that's diverged from my reality and sometimes it's hard to know which me I am." Timmy's eyes met Armie's and he felt incredibly young. "It's never happened to me before."

"It's immersive, that's for sure," Armie nodded, his hand squeezing Timmy's knee before returning his own lap. "I know what you mean. We leave set and come here and it's like we hit pause and repeat."

"Yes exactly. It's like it just doesn't stop. I thought that because Luca wanted us to bond beforehand that it was sort of intentional to have us go bike riding and explore and spend time together. However… now it's all we do, and we're filming when we're not doing that, so…"

"So when is it real?" Armie offered with a knowing smile. Timmy sighed deeply and looked back to the piano. Armie lifted his hands and made Timmy scoot down a little before he began playing something Timmy hadn't heard yet, his eyes stuck on Armie's hands. "Oliver doesn't know how to play," he offered.

"But you do."

"I do," he smiled, glancing up briefly. In an instant, Timmy felt grounded in a way he usually needed physical touch to accomplish. Timmy watched him play with a small smile before the feeling of warmth in his chest turned to unexplainable tightness.

"We still have so much left to shoot," Timmy said quietly. "What if it gets harder to separate?"

"Then it looks more real on camera."

"Armie."

"What?" he laughed softly, looking up at Timmy. "I know it's weird, okay? It happens sometimes, it's an immersive experience and I've heard other actors talk about it before. The lines are blurry, so we use it for the roles."

"But you've never had it happen either, have you?"

"That's not the point."

"But what if it _is_ the point?"

"What are you getting at?" Timmy paused, his throat tight when Armie stopped playing entirely and looked at him.

"Oh there they are! I thought I heard the piano." Luca's voice pulled them apart as he entered the room from the kitchen with Michael. "Armie, was that you?"

"It was," he said brightly, turning from Timmy to hug Luca as he approached and accepted a drink from his hand. Timmy watched only for a moment before returning to the piano and resting his hands against the keys, moving back to his original spot to begin playing _Une Baroque Sur L'ocean_ again, slowly at first, each key erasing the odd feeling of Armie's eyes on him moments earlier. He breathes into it and arches his back sharply when fingers suddenly press into his spine.

"Your form is shit," Armie's voice mumbles, his hand lingering on Timmy's back while he plays, eyes wide as he stares at the keys and swallows, attempting not to miss any notes.

"Elio's dramatic, he pours over the music. Luca said it was fine," Timmy said, shifting his shoulders to rid himself of Armie's touch.

"Hm. Sounds about right actually."

He tried to play the piece again and sat a little straighter at the phantom hand pushing his spine as he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read end notes. I dont want to spoil this and talk about the scenes before
> 
> But also go look at [this gorgeous mood board](https://charmie-inspiration.tumblr.com/post/188865686152/keep-playing-by-lookingforatardis) nici made for this fic (askldg ily thank you again for that)

Timmy and Armie sat down near each other with a subconsciously careful distance between their knees. Luca fiddled around with his computer for a moment before asking them if they were ready. Timmy nodded quickly, Armie said _let's do this_.

They'd finished filming and gotten dinner together, just the three of them this time. Luca mentioned Sufjan had sent the tracks in and asked if they would like to hear them after they ate, would they mind going to his home. The night approached quickly and by the time they were tucked into Luca's study, it had taken on a sort of summer chill as the stars lit up the sky. Luca left the blinds open to draw in the moonlight, letting only two lamps on in the room. It was quiet.

Timmy fidgeted where he sat, his lip between his teeth for a fleeting moment. And then a guitar rang through the room, crystal and light as Timmy's eyes flickered over to Armie's with the first words. They exchanged a small smile, one that grew as the words carried on. They settled into the couch, eyes wandering with the melody, imagining their story all around them as the chorus hit, finding each other's eyes every few seconds with smiles. It made it real suddenly in a way not even filming had, like hardening the cement of the foundation they'd been laying since the day they were each cast. The scenes they filmed over the past week washed over them as they listened, the beauty of the song pulling their hearts to one another. Armie grinned at Luca, feeling the magic he promised would happen in this movie if Armie trusted him. His eyes shone as he looked back, then at Timmy, then out the window. Armie followed his gaze to the darkness outside, when the line caught his attention and his eyes darted to Timmy's with a bewildered smile. Timmy did the same, eyes wide, _the birthmark on your shoulder._ They held contact, neither wanting the trance to end. It felt safe, like the lines being smudged all over the place didn't matter.

As the tone shifted, Timmy's brows drew low at the hinting of love being over. Armie watched in silent awe as he saw what he believed Luca must have seen when he met Timmy. He barely moved, hardly reacted at all, and yet Armie could see how every note seemed to hit him. He saw Elio in his eyes, not the Elio he'd filmed with earlier that day but, as he feared, the Elio he would too soon be filming a final scene with. An Elio of fleeting moments. His breath caught in his throat the song started fading out, a few tears filling Timmy's eyes.

Luca had queued the songs and the second started without pause. Timmy blinked and looked down at Armie's chest; the dampness of his cheeks caught the light in a way that made Armie reach out and press his thumbs against the streaks. Timmy sniffled and looked back up as Armie's hand dropped slowly, the lyrics starting with a shuddering breath from Timmy. The words pinged around between them, their bodies absorbing the subdued melody as Luca watched closely.

Timmy's lips pulled together, his eyes welled up as another tear, then another, escaped. Armie sat helplessly as he swiped them away. His heart was in his throat. Timmy had been right the other night when he assumed Armie had never felt the lines blur so seriously in a role, and this moment only seemed to put a spotlight on it. They'd only just begun, and already as the music and lines fell around them, he felt it slipping away. He had so much time and yet none at all in Italy, the days long until they weren't—he knew how films worked. He knew there would be a day where he blinked and it would be done.

Timmy stared at the back of the couch by Armie's shoulder, his lips pulling up at the side before his shoulders shifted and Armie felt his hand moving; without consciously deciding to do it, he was wiping Timmy's face and allowing his fingers to glide along his cheek until he felt Timmy's hair curl around the fingers. Timmy's eyes closed with a violent breath as Armie felt like he might actually start crying as well, half from the music, half from the scene before him.

Timmy's hands fisted in his lap and Armie couldn't do it anymore; he pulled him close, tucked him under his arm, pressed his eyes closed as he rested his head against Timmy's as he clung to Armie's chest. The longer the song went on, the harder it was to open his eyes. So he sat and absorbed it instead, gave himself over to the pain of being Oliver, to meeting someone who saw every piece of you so quickly, to having something he knew he would never have again, to the feeling of Timmy in his arms. To losing complete and total intimacy with another person.

The song echoed towards the end. Timmy felt Armie's thumb rubbing over his shoulder to sooth him, but it only spurred the feelings on. He didn't understand how he could sit with Armie, feel him against his body, and still feel as though he'd imagined it all. The Elio in his head wouldn't let him go as the music faded out. The three sat in silence after it had ended, Timmy's breathing shaky though the tears had stopped.

Luca knew as Timmy turned towards Armie's chest in a silent embrace, he'd found it, whatever _it_ was he was trying to capture through the film.

"Why do you have that?" Armie wondered as he stepped aside to let Timmy into the place he called home for the duration of filming. Timmy hid a smile and shrugged, bumped his shoulder against Armie's as he strode in, guitar case in hand. "Timmy?"

"You'll see."

"Timmy!" Elizabeth sang out, pulling him into a tight hug. She went on about something they'd chatted about earlier on set when she'd stopped by; Armie eyed him suspiciously. Timmy nodded at something Elizabeth had said and let his eyes flick over to Armie, attempting to hide his smirk as he looked back at Elizabeth. Armie felt warm and shook it off before walking to pick up his daughter. He knew she would want to be held by Timmy the second she saw him. Sure enough, as soon as he got close, she dove half out of his arms with one goal in mind: _Timmy_.

He laughed and put the guitar down, Harper effectively ending all conversation. He beamed at her and wandered away towards their couch while cooing and talking softly to the toddler. "She likes him better than me," Armie rolled his eyes, but it was with a smile.

"That's impossible," Elizabeth smirked. With a glance back at Timmy and Harper, now very invested in how much of his hair she would twirl around all ten of her fingers, added, "Though, maybe you have point…"

"Hey!" She laughed and walked away to grab her shoes.

"You sure you're good?"

"We're good," he nodded. She was having a girls’ night with the female cast and crew members, something they'd been looking forward to for days. For Armie, it just meant another night with Timmy.

Elizabeth left and Armie went to sit with him, his arm draped over the couch as Harper leaned her head against Timmy's chest to look at her dad. "You gonna tell me why you brought a guitar?"

"I want to play it for her," he said quietly, as if he was going to ruin the surprise. "If that's okay?"

"You want to play my daughter a lullaby?" Armie asked incredulously. Timmy nodded and toyed with her hair. "If she didn't already love you…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Timmy grinned.

"You know she's a sucker for music."

"Gee I wonder where she gets that from." Armie rolled his eyes and sank back against the couch a little more comfortably, his hand over Timmy's shoulder mindlessly going to the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Touché." Timmy leaned his head against Armie's hand and smiled brightly when Harper looked up at him. "She adores you." Timmy turned his smile to Armie at his words.

"Gee I wonder where she gets that—"

"Oh shush," Armie smirked, swatting at him as he laughed breathlessly.

"I love her," Timmy said simply, looking back to make faces to get her to giggle. The tightness in Armie's chest felt like brickwork.

When he was putting her to sleep, he let Timmy bring the guitar in and, as he held his daughter in his arms, Timmy started to play. He only knew a fraction of the piece, but he knew it well, played it in a slow loop, altering little things he'd practiced just for her. Armie watched with his heart in his throat as his daughter swayed happily then sank against his chest, sleepy eyes drooping closed. When she was finally asleep, Timmy finished the sequence and then let it ring until it was quiet. Only then did he set it aside and look up at Armie. For a few seconds, neither moved, the moment fixed in their eyes. With Harper against Armie’s chest, the lights low, Timmy felt energy vibrate through his body, warming the tips of his ears and fingers and toes. He reached out and pressed a gentle hand against Harper’s back, his palm centimeters from Armie’s. Another beat passed before Armie turned and put his daughter to bed. Timmy watched him with heavy eyes as he turned, walked directly towards him, and pulled him into his arms with a hand slipping up so his head rested against Armie’s neck. Everything he wasn't sure how to express verbally was there in his embrace, all the emotion that bubbled up and the overwhelming need to keep Timmy close made it nearly impossible for him to consider breaking the hug.

Timmy soaked up every second, the affection always welcome, especially from Armie. He had a way of hugging him that made his entire body feel comfortably warm and safe. One of Armie’s palms drew lazy patterns on Timmy’s back as Timmy breathed in the smell of his faded aftershave from earlier in the day. Time passed between them until they heard Harper shift around and Armie reluctantly pulled back, glanced over to her crib, and motioned for Timmy to follow him out of the room.

They lounged on the couch and Armie pulled Timmy's left hand into both of his, turning it over between his palms as Timmy watched with a content smile. "What are you doing?"

"You're like a real guitar player now," Armie teased pressing each of his fingertips between his own as he pretended to examine them. "Got calluses and everything."

"Stop," Timmy laughed, tugging his hand gently only to have Armie intertwine their fingers on his thigh.

"I'm never going to forget that," Armie mumbled, looking up at Timmy. "That was—thank you. For doing that."

"I just played her a song," he shrugged, face warming. Armie couldn't explain _why_ it meant so much to him, only that it did. "I'm glad you liked it." Armie's lips curled up just a little and Timmy nodded, as if he understood. And he did, in his own way—he wanted to play it for Harper, for himself, but mostly for Armie.

Luca's dinners ran late—it had become a fact of the shoot, one which everyone accepted. It came as no surprise to anyone the night when, after a few hours and a few too many glasses of wine, Armie and Timmy had stumbled away to the piano, playing slightly off-key duets that Armie tried to teach Timmy despite his state of intoxication. Eventually, Timmy let it morph into _Sonatine Bureaucratique_**. **Armie looped a heavy arm around Timmy's shoulder and with his other hand, pushed Timmy's hand closest to him off the keys. "I'll play left hand you play right," he said as if he'd had the best idea of the night. Timmy laughed and leaned against his shoulder, moving his hand into place.

"S'not gonna work, you barely even know it," he grinned, but tried anyway. It was horrible, even Luca cringing as he looked over at the two laughing while attempting to hit the keys at the right time. Armie gave up after another tortured measure and dropped his arm around Timmy's waist, his other wrapping around him snugly while he draped himself over his side.

"You play, sounds better anyway," he said, chin rubbing over Timmy's shoulder. The feeling made his entire body shiver and his left hand clamp down on Armie's thigh. Armie's cheek dropped to his shoulder and, not knowing what else to do, Timmy rested his own head to the side to prop against Armie's. It just felt like the only logically response.

"You're better at piano," he said squeezing Armie's thigh.

"You're better at Elio," Armie mumbled. He couldn't fight that, especially not drunk, so Timmy put his hands back on the piano and played sloppily through his pieces one by one as Armie hung around him, uselessly refusing to move when Timmy needed to reach a lower note. Timmy was laughing half the time, Armie's hands pressing into his sides sometimes to spur on a giggle here and there with a grin.

"Boys, maybe you should head home, it's late," Luca said after this went on for awhile. Timmy looked at Armie as he lifted himself and smiled at the lines his shirt had pressed into Armie’s cheek. He lifted a hand and tried smoothing them out with his fingers. "We will start a little late tomorrow," Luca decided, watching them carefully. "Go get some sleep."

Armie escorted Timmy out and pulled him close for a hug before parting ways, their bodies pressed together tightly for so long that Timmy felt the alcohol start to make him sleepy. Armie's hands held him sturdy like tethers to the ground. The fleeting desire to be carried home resonated in Timmy’s body.

Every day it became harder to remember that when the cameras stopped, they didn't have to linger so much. It was as if, by tapping into their characters so deeply, they couldn't tap out; they could be themselves, but Elio and Oliver echoed in everything they did. Even in a farewell for the night, touch and each other felt necessary and bold, and as comforting as exciting. By the time they pulled away, Timmy was groggy and Armie sad to leave him. Their journeys home were lonely and quiet, their tossing in bed collective. Both fell into a dreamless sleep, waking to thoughts of each other.

The night after they filmed Monet's Berm, they lounged on the floor of Timmy's room for hours.

Armie laughed heartily and took the guitar from Timmy's hands, played a song as Timmy settled his head on his thigh near the body of the instrument. His eyes were closed as he hummed along to the tune, lifting a shared joint to his lips while the music faded. Suddenly, fingers formed around his and pulled it away. While exhaling, he opened his eyes to watch Armie take a drag with a smirk, eyes on Timmy as he blew the smoke in his direction. It made Timmy giggle, his hand moving to tuck under Armie's knee where his legs were outstretched. Armie's hand lowered to Timmy's chest, moved over his torso in a smooth movement before working back up to his lips where he placedthe joint back against Timmy's mouth. The second Timmy closed around it, Armie returned his hand to Timmy's chest. They weren't that high, but it was always a nice excuse to touch, lean in, smile a bit more freely and tease without worry. They could always blame the pot.

Timmy let it hang from his lips with a lazy smile, his thumb rubbing the underside of Armie's knee. "Keep playing," he mumbled around the joint. Armie traced his fingers over Timmy's body instead, a smirk on his face. "Please, Armie?" Timmy smiled, eyes closing at the sensation. Armie reluctantly withdrew his hand and strummed out some slow chords to a song Timmy had made him listen to the other night, the familiar sound making Timmy grin and sit up. He folded his legs, one leaning up against Armie's as he took the joint and pressed it against Armie's lips, holding it there with his fingers resting against his skin. Armie blew the smoke out, having to lean back to escape Timmy's hand.

"Teach me how to play Elio's piece," he said when his eyes met Timmy's again. "I wanna play it."

"Noooo way, you're gonna be better at," Timmy pouted, making Armie smile. He asked again, his voice dropping a little as he smiled the way he knew Timmy found hard to resist. With a huff, Timmy put the joint out in a makeshift ashtray next to Armie and started telling him what to do. "No, the third fret," Timmy murmured when Armie missed a note. To Timmy, the only way to explain it suddenly was to press his fingers against the frets for him. He climbed on Armie's thighs and helped move his left fingers into place. "Strum," he said, small smile on his lips. "Now—" he let his hand wander to Armie's right hand and tried to help him pluck the right strings, hitting too many and laughing at it being harder than he anticipated. Armie grinned back at him and plucked the strings himself, but Timmy's hands lingered all over his as he played the few notes. "Think Elio would have taught Oliver?" Timmy asked, smiling with hazy eyes as he watched Armie figure out the next chord, probably from memory. Later, Timmy would consider how many times he would have had to watch Timmy practice to have picked it up.

"Maybe after sex or something."

"Why only after sex?" This was hilarious to Timmy, his hands lifting to press against Armie's shoulders to keep himself upright.

"Dunno. Seems like something Oliver would ask when he's least inhibited."

"So he couldn't get self-conscious?" Timmy asked, and Armie lifted a shoulder. "You understand him better than me," he mumbled, fingers drifting to the back of Armie's neck.

"Well that's my job," he smirked. "You figure out Elio, I'll figure out Oliver."

"You _are_ Oliver," Timmy smiled, a finger pressing into his chest.

"How high are you?" Armie laughed softly.

"Y'know what I mean. You're the best Oliver. The only one." Armie smiled at him, the edges of his expression softening as Timmy stared back. It took a second for it to happen, milliseconds to fight. Timmy swayed forward and pressed his lips against Armie's for a fleeting moment, then he was gone, hands slipping back to Armie's on the guitar. "Sorry," he said, but he was grinning.

"No you're not." Timmy giggled and looked up at Armie who looked a bit bewildered, but not upset. It just felt natural, and he couldn't hold it against Timmy for leaning into the moment. "Hop off, Elio. It's almost 2," he teased, a hand lowering to pat Timmy's thigh covering his own. "I'm an old man, I need to sleep."

"I have a bed, you know."

"Elizabeth will have my head if I stay," he laughed as Timmy stumbled off his lap and laid down on his back.

"She will anyway when you go to bed smelling like pot," Timmy smirked, eyes tracing over Armie as he stood up and moved the guitar. Armie thought for a moment and groaned. The sound made Timmy's eyes close and his smirk turn wider.

"Fine you win." Armie grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at Timmy, hitting him square in the chest. It made him recoil and laugh breathlessly, his body turning onto the side before he sat up, hugging the pillow as he looked at Armie. "No funny business," Armie teased, making Timmy’s eyes shine as he stood and wandered over him to loop his arms around his waist, pressing his face against his neck. "Yeah yeah, I know what you want," he mumbled, lifting a hand to scratch at Timmy's scalp like he'd already learned he loved, _especially_ high. In a second, he was putty, shoulders drooping as his hands looped so low they were really just resting against the curve of Armie's ass. He hummed and pressed his face closer to Armie’s neck. "Okay get in bed before you pass out," Armie laughed. Timmy almost fell asleep by the time Armie had texted his wife and crawled in, but was awake enough to turn towards him. Despite never sleeping in the same bed, they fell into each other without hesitation. Maybe it was the weed, Armie thought as he began drifting. 

The room was quiet but not uncomfortable. Timmy's knee bounced a little at the edge of the bed, his robe loose around him as he zoned out watching Luca and Sayombhu chat. The bed shifted and pulled his attention with a small smile as his eyes flicked away quickly. "Jesus," he chuckled, suddenly a little flushed.

"What, you're all going to see anyway," Armie smirked, sneaking under the thin sheet to cover his body while they waited; the room had a draft he wasn’t terribly fond of. "And it's not as if you haven't gotten a handful. Literally."

"I guess that's true," Timmy nodded, his fingers toying with the robe barely covering him.

"Are you nervous?"

"Not really," Timmy shook his head, twisting his body so he could sit on the bed facing Armie. The robe fell off one shoulder but he didn't move it. Armie was right, and he'd been practically naked half the time on set anyway with his bathing suit. "It's more that I feel I _should_ be nervous, does that make sense?" Armie nodded and moved; Timmy could tell by the way the sheet hugged him that he'd folded his right leg so his foot could tuck under his left. "I thought this would feel weird," Timmy admitted. "It just feels…"

"Kind of normal?" Timmy nodded at Armie and sighed. "I know what you mean." Timmy scooted closer until his knee brushed up against Armie's hip, his hand reaching out to push back Armie's hair to ground himself. Maybe he wasn't nervous _per se_, but there was something in the pit of his stomach he couldn't quite identify. "We can stop anytime, you know that right? Luca will let us."

"Oh I know," Timmy nodded. "I'm not nervous, I swear."

"Okay." They sat for a moment as Sayombhu reset around them in the room, then wandered over to get them ready for the light test, asking them to move this way and that. Armie sank down into the bed so he was completely laying down, right arm folded to support his head as he looked up at Timmy, who sucked in his lip and nodded at Sayombhu, shucked his robe, and laid down carefully with his head and shoulders on Armie's chest, jaw clenched. Armie's hand immediately found his hair and gently pushed him further up his chest as Timmy wiggled to get comfortable, his arms tucked under his body. The tension in his jaw relaxed as Armie toyed with his hair. They were told to get little closer and Timmy obliged without hesitation, nuzzling into Armie's neck as his breath puffed out against the sensitive skin. Armie shivered and threaded his fingers deeper into Timmy's hair as he closed his eyes. He could feel him blinking, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. "You're so warm," Timmy mumbled, snuggling closer as Armie's chest shook with silent laughter as Timmy's fingers snaked under to press against his side, presumably for warmth.

"How are you cold right now?"

"I'm naked, Armie," Timmy pointed out with a smile Armie could feel.

"Well so am I."

"I'm always cold," Timmy mumbled as an explanation. "You know that." Armie rolled his eyes, having wondered more than once if Timmy actually got cold easily or if he liked the excuse for affection from various cast and crew members. His mind traced back to the day before when Timmy had shivered as he kissed him. His heart beat quickly in his chest at the thought, something Timmy knew with how they were laying.

"I could fall asleep like this," Timmy sighed.

"Don't, we still have to make out some more." Timmy's lips were suddenly ghosting his skin and he felt his breath stutter out. "Not _now_." Timmy laughed quietly and nosed at his throat for a moment before settling. They laid quietly, both of them with their eyes closed as Armie carefully cradled Timmy's head against his chest as his heart beat away under Timmy's ear.

"It's just me," he whispered after a minute, presumably in regards to the racing heart.

"I think that's the problem." Timmy laughed softly and sighed, the feeling like scattered dust over Armie's skin. "You'll tell me to stop if I do something you don't like, right?"

"Armie, after what we did in the other scene—"

"We weren't naked," Armie pointed out.

"No but we _were_ stripping, it was still intimate… I trust you." Armie breathed out and nodded, feeling fiercely protective of him suddenly, wanting to block him out from the eyes that would see how vulnerable they both were with one another, not just physically but emotionally as well. "I'll tell you if I get uncomfortable but I seriously doubt that's going to happen."

"Alright, we're good boys," Luca said suddenly.

"Five more minutes," Timmy mumbled loud enough for him to hear, his arm draping over Armie's lower abdomen as a joke. Luca smiled fondly at the two as he reinforced his statement. Armie's hand stayed against Timmy's head until gravity made it slip off as he sat. Timmy’s hand barely covered himself while he draped the sheet over his lap, the two exchanging a look as they awaited Luca's instruction. Armie smiled at Timmy when he saw his cheeks were a little flushed and reached a hand over for him to take. Timmy scooted closer and instead laid his hands against Armie's chest with a small smile, his fingers pressing down in some spots. With the sheet barely covering the hair above Armie's dick, he had more than enough space to explore. It felt nice, _too_ nice at times, and Armie started wondering what was happening in his head.

"What are you doing?" Armie asked, amused.

"You're all laid out like an instrument begging to be played." Armie's eyebrows shot up as Timmy smirked, moved his fingers. "Just like the line."

"The line?" Armie was taken aback, his body warm under the delicate touch of Timmy's fingers playing his torso like a piano. He recognized it now that he knew that was the goal, his heart lurching in his chest as he watched the fingers strike what would be _young Bach_ if he were really a piano. Armie let him, allowed his movements to stich some form of familiarity into the moment to ease the slight tension both felt at the prospect of what was to come, simultaneously creating tension of an entirely different kind. For not the first time, Armie found himself wondering if this was how Timmy was with the people he dated, flipping casually from moments of intimacy to moments of playfulness, sincerity stitched into each second like writing his heart out in fingerprints and smiles. He was so young still, maybe he had never had the chance, a thought that had been popping into Armie's head the harder it became to separate characters from reality.

"We are not written for one instrument alone," Timmy said almost reverently, his palms pressing down against Armie's skin as he met his eyes with a smile, pulling his focus back. "I am not, neither are you."

"Elio's musical obsession has gotten to you," Armie said, because addressing the line would be too much.

"I think that’s the point." Timmy grinned and leaned down to press a chaste kiss against his chest before sitting back up and tucking his hair behind his ears (despite it not being quite long enough to fall). Luca approached, explained the way he wanted them to look, and stood back with his hand covering half his face. Timmy shuffled under the sheet to lay down and Armie watched him carefully before turning to cover his body with his own, moving the sheet as he went only after he felt his thigh properly create an illusion of modesty for Timmy. Their eyes locked, both pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening as Luca nudged Armie's hip and told him to move this way or that, his arm here, Timmy's leg bent there, etc. Timmy's hand lifted to Armie's forearm, his fingers tightening around it, as he watched Luca consider their placement with Sayombhu. His heart was fast in his chest, but he could feel Armie's beat against him in a similar rhythm. His hand tightened and Armie breathed out, lowered his jaw a little to nudge his shoulder so he would look at him. They were too close though, so Timmy closed his eyes and nodded, knowing Armie would have just smiled to ease his mind anyway. Armie's thumb slowly swiped back and forth over his skin in a soothing motion, a subtlety Timmy knew escaped the other people in the room. To them, nothing seemed amiss. But Timmy knew this was both their first time ever laying down with another man this way, that both of them were feeling a bit vulnerable not because there were other people present, but because it was inherently vulnerable, period. Timmy turned his head as much as he could and kissed the side of Armie's face, a silent way to offer comfort without moving the rest of his body. "That's beautiful," Luca murmured. "Timmy, do that in the scene, yes? I love that."

"Yeah, _Teemy,_ kiss me in the scene," Armie teased lowly. Timmy smiled and pressed his head back into the bed, warm and finding an odd sense of comfort in the situation. He ran his hand over Armie's forearm until he shivered slightly at the light touch. The movement made his thigh rub over Timmy and he blinked wide, willing his body not to respond. "Sorry, sorry," he heard Armie whisper.

"It's okay," he swallowed. Luca called attention, ran through the scene, and then they were filming, the lines so blurry that it took a shaky take for them to get their heads in the scene.

It was ending soon.

Despite what everyone wanted to believe, the shoot would pass quickly as the final week fell around them. Days lost previously now had to be made up, shoots lasting a few hours longer as Luca found he needed more takes for certain things. Armie grew anxious, Timmy desperate, neither understanding it completely. They lasted days without any rain, the summer sun bright and beautiful for the film until it wasn't. Like a final plea, the rain came. Heavy drops fell harsh as they scrambled to find a way not to waste the entire day to it, not again, not when time was limited.

All the talk of wasted time drove Armie to the attic.

Timmy found him, part by instinct, part by the sound of guitar strings. He sat on the shitty mattress and watched Armie play, his gaze cast towards the window. "I just needed a minute."

"I know," Timmy nodded, hands folded neatly in his lap.

"Have they figured out how to solve the shoot yet? Or is Luca too consumed by other things?"

"Be nice to him," Timmy said softly. He could tell Armie didn't actually want a response to his question, he was merely acting out, needing to vocalize his frustration somehow. But calling Luca out felt wrong.

Armie didn't reply, simply played some riff Timmy faintly recognized. After a few moments, Timmy laid down and grabbed the forgotten prop book on the floor, elbows supporting him as he flipped through faded and water wrinkled pages. He doodled _that_ day between takes, shifting any nervous energy into frantic scribbles in the margins. Their fault really, they gave him the pencil.

The music changed, changed again, and Timmy barely paid attention to it all. He was there for support because he knew Armie didn't want to ask for it himself.

He dropped the book on the floor and turned onto his back, eyes cast towards the ceiling with folded legs to not disrupt Armie on the corner of the mattress. The notes changed into something almost familiar, like a memory, a little haunting. Timmy glanced over at the furrowed brow Armie wore as he fumbled, tried again, danced around a movement until the sound felt chillingly familiar once more. Nothing could tear his eyes from Armie.

The notes felt like open wounds and he felt the memory of nausea, a little feverish without knowing why. Armie paused, picked the notes up again, as if he could only remember a small portion of the song he was attempting to play. Timmy wondered if he had made it up himself in that moment, a perfectly terrible sound to fit into the spaces of their last day in the villa.

And then it clicked.

His mouth fell open as his heart raced, tears welling in his eyes. Armie glanced over, stopped playing at once. "What's wrong, what happened?" he asked quickly. Timmy just shook his head. "Tim?"

"Keep playing," he whispered, settling his heart. Armie hesitated, but began again, fiddling with what Timmy was positive was one of the songs Sufjan wrote for them.

For their _characters_.

Timmy let him play until the song shifted into something it wasn't, at which point he clamored across the bed, one hand on the neck of the guitar as he dragged it away from Armie to stop him from playing anything but Sufjan’s song. "Tim—"

Their mouths slotted together before the guitar strings finished ringing, the tears spilling from Timmy's eyes before Armie's hands could stabilize him. It was messy, damp at best. Armie's hands cupped Timmy's face, voice low as he whispered it would be okay, Timmy nodding through his closed eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from flowing, his hands frustratingly rubbing against the tops of his thighs until finally, he sagged against Armie's chest.

"You were playing it," he whispered finally. "Our song."

"What song?"

"Sufjan's song." Armie sat silently, his hand on Timmy's back slowing in the circles he drew. "It's over."

"_Timmy_." But there was nothing to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. A few notes: 
> 
> You didnt really think i would write an entire fic about music and not torture you a bit with sufjans music... right???
> 
> There was debate about when the lighting test picture was taken ([YOU KNOW THE ONE](https://punkanarchist.tumblr.com/post/169777469494/im-not-sure-i-want-to-go-ahead-with-this-but-i)) because I have been obsessed with that pic for so long and needed to include it in a fic gdi (and by debate i mean me uselessly and dramatically wailing about how pretty it is and how much it hurts me while other people logically worked out when it was taken for me so i could create a semi accurate scene). And yes, that scene was entirely self-indulgent because i just wanted to write about the light test. But i ALSO wanted to write a scene involving Timmy playing Armie like a piano so, happy day that it worked out
> 
> I wrote part three today at lunch and surprise i probably need a part 4 so... that has been updated...
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone commenting! I love how much yall also love this concept :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realized after i wrote and reread this that this song is perfect so have some lyrics my dudes
> 
> Since you think I don't love you, I just thought you were cute  
That's why I kissed you  
Got a fighter jet, I don't get to fly it though, I'm lying down  
Thinkin' 'bout you, ooh no, no, no  
I've been thinkin' bout you, you know, know, know  
I've been thinkin' bout you, do you think about me still?

The sound of laughter echoed louder than Armie's voice as he chased after his daughter on the grass, the back door open to let Archie come and go as he pleased. Timmy watched with a slow gaze as Armie gathered Harper up in his arms, swung her around, and tickled her sides until she begged to be thrown in the air. Armie was happy to oblige. Archie ran happy circles around them before wandering inside to Timmy's side, paws up on the bench. Timmy scratched behind his ears, eyes glued to something like a memory outside. The rest of the house was silent in the way only large homes could be.

A minor key rang out; Timmy glanced down at his hand as the keys gave way to it. He swallowed heavily and lifted his fingers as much as he could without fully releasing the keys. "What are you doing?" He turned sharply at the sound of Armie. He was out of breath as he walked in with Harper trailing behind, smile wide, tan everywhere Timmy's eyes could see. He shrugged. Armie continued his stroll over to the piano to rub a hand rather roughly through Timmy's wild curls in passing on his way to the kitchen. "Want some lemonade?"

"Water," he amended, reluctantly pulling his body from the bench to follow after Armie when Harper grabbed his hand and dragged him off. He scooped her up in his arms, delighting her to no end as she began recounting a story of her daycare or preschool or whatever she had been put into at that point. He half listened, tried to focus but felt like he couldn't possibly. He gulped the water down Armie gave him, and if he hadn't been more in tune, he might have missed the concern in his eyes.

Armie didn't often ask. He didn't like to be disappointed, and he liked to be scared for the ones he loved even less. It hadn't been long enough for Timmy's body to get used to the lower intake of calories, and after the third time Armie asked if he felt alright, Timmy told him to assume he was unless otherwise informed.

Sitting at the piano, though. It was new. Armie noticed, and Timmy felt careless for having sought the comfort out.

"You should play something later," Armie said, voice bright as he refilled Timmy's glass and passed it back to him, pulling Harper out of his arms and letting her down.

"I can hold her."

"I know you can," Armie said, eyebrows lifted higher than his hands in surrender, sensing Timmy's defensive nature had more to do with his growing insecurity about his body wandering away from him. "I know you can. She'll monopolize you though."

"Suppose that's your job. "

"Okay. What's up?" The exasperation was palpable in his voice. Timmy shrugged and walked away, up the stairs to the guest room, door firmly shut.

Hours later, Timmy heard Elizabeth return home. Armie spoke with her downstairs before she found him. She asked if he wanted to join them for dinner, but he declined, told her he would eat later. She didn't push; sometimes eating with them made it harder to keep to his diet.

Armie didn't come up until later, late enough that Timmy assumed they'd put Harper to bed. He knocked but only waited a moment before he opened the door. His weight settled on the bed, but as Timmy faced the wall, he didn't see him. "Talk to me. Please."

"I can't remember it."

"Remember what?" Timmy hiked his blanket up his shoulder and shook his head. "Tim." The feeling of Armie's hand on his shoulder, palm sliding to squeeze around his thinning bicep—Timmy shrugged it off.

"It's all gone. I thought... I thought maybe it was just my head, that it would still be there if I... But it's not, it's just... even the muscle memory is gone."

"Timmy," Armie said. Timmy recognized the voice. It was his _you're scaring me_ voice he liked to use after learning actually saying those words didn't necessarily accomplish anything.

"I need your guitar," Timmy said, almost frantic though he refused to sit up. "Maybe, maybe I'll remember." It seemed painfully obvious to Timmy what had happened, so much so that it didn't occur to him that Armie hadn't pieced it together, that to Armie he sounded on the verge of another breakdown. So when the bed shifted, Timmy thought it meant Armie was leaving, perhaps to grab his guitar like he asked. Instead, the weight _only_ shifted. In an instant, he was pressed against Armie's body, an arm slung tightly over his side to pull him up against Armie's chest. Timmy reached for the blanket with a shaking hand to cover them, confused but not about to question the change.

"I don't know what's happening in that head of yours," Armie said quietly. "But I've got you, okay? I need you to explain it to me again." Something about it made everything safe, tucked under their shared body heat and blankets. Timmy pressed his eyes together tightly.

"It's Elio," his voice dripped in misery.

_"What?"_ Something akin to reverence filled Armie's voice. Or maybe it was fear, worry. Timmy couldn’t be sure. And then it must have clicked— "Oh, no... _Timmy_," Armie started. He pulled him closer still; his arm moved so Timmy was properly tucked against his chest. "I'll help you remember, okay? We can try playing the pieces tomorrow."

"I shouldn't need help remembering. It was all I did for weeks."

"Timmy, stop. It was..."

"What?" Timmy turned in his arms to look at him. "Finish that sentence, Armie. It was what? A long time ago? Just a job, it's not something I knew how to do anyway—"

"Shut the hell up. You know I wasn't going to say any of that, don't put words in my mouth."

"You don't get it. You don't fucking get it. That was my entire fucking life and now I can't even remember. It's just gone. You know what—go to bed, leave me alone." Timmy shoved against Armie hard, but he anticipated the blow and caught Timmy's wrists as they connected with his body, his legs swiping out to keep Timmy from kicking him off the bed. "Go!"

"You're going to wake Harper, shut up," Armie muttered, fighting with him to get him to settle, limbs pressed hard against Timmy's until he stopped fighting and curled in his body, face down with his hands tucked under his chest.

"Please go away." He could feel the emotion bubble up as the anger gave way to the heartache that lingered all over the place while his face laid buried in his pillow.

"You know I can't do that." Armie rested on his side, a leg still covering one of Timmy's. His hand pressed warmly between Timmy's shoulder blades. "I miss you, too," he said softly, so softly Timmy had to wonder if he dreamt it. "Every fucking day you aren't here."

"It's different and you know it."

"Why? Because I'm settled it must affect me differently? Is that it?"

"Because you weren't _him_, Armie. I was Elio. You weren't Oliver."

"Rich coming from the guy who told me the opposite every time I doubted myself."

"Go away."

"If you think there is literally anywhere else in the world I want to be right now, you're fucking wrong." With that, Timmy broke. Tears fell fast and hard and uncontrollable, his body shaking under the weight of Armie's palm. "I don't understand why you won't accept that I love you." Armie's voice wavered as he said it, his thumb rubbing back and forth on Timmy's back.

"You don't."

"Jesus Christ. Can you please hear me?" Timmy stayed silent long enough for Armie's chest to ache in a permanent kind of way. He sank deeper into the bed and laid his body half over Timmy's, his arm hooking under his torso as his head rested near his shoulder. "Do you realize where you are? Did you forget somehow that I begged you to stay with me for this movie? Is that entire week I spent in New York just blacked out in your memory?"

"Stop."

"No, I won't. Not until you get it."

"No, _you_ don't get it," Timmy groaned. "This is different. It's always going to be different and that was the _one_ thing, those stupid pieces were the only thing left—" His chest heaved but he didn't push Armie off him.

"Timmy," Armie breathed, "Turn over. "He shook his head, but Armie wrangled him on his back, heart tight when he saw Timmy's red eyes and flushed face from stubbornly hiding. Everything faded out except the war-torn expression etched into Timmy's features. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore, except the facts.

The film had ended.

They were different.

Armie knew nothing he could say would do anything to combat what Timmy was trying to tell him. He saw it in his eyes, the hurt and fear and exhaustion. The sight was too big for Armie to digest; he had to try breaking it into pieces, look at one element of his expression instead of all of it, but even that was too much. One of Timmy's legs shifted, ankle pushed against Armie's, and time froze.

And then they were kissing, hands on necks and backs and jaws, knees against knees and hips aligned. Timmy's breath filled Armie's lungs and his hands were shoved up under Armie's shirt, fingers on his spine and nails leaving traces on his sides. His shirt made it to the floor a second before Timmy's was shoved up to his armpits, Armie's hands anchoring Timmy's shoulders as his teeth scraped over his chest, lips down his torso. A hand in his hair brought him back up, but another under his pants on his ass kept him from straying.

When Timmy moaned, Armie covered his mouth and bit down on the soft flesh of his earlobe, a barely audible _fuck Armie_choked out behind Armie's hand.

It was sobering.

Armie rested his head against Timmy's shoulder and dropped his hand as Timmy retrieved his from Armie's pants. They parted, both on their backs as they stared at the ceiling.

"I'll help you remember the pieces tomorrow," Armie mumbled, voice low and on the better side of breathless.

"Okay."

They laid silently for minutes that felt like hours before Armie sat, squeezed Timmy's arm, and swung his legs off the bed. "We're never going to talk about this, are we?" Armie glanced back at Timmy's question.

"I don't think we can." Timmy nodded and turned on his side to escape Armie's eyes.

They didn't review the songs. Timmy was afraid to bring it up, and Armie afraid to ignite the intimate memories of sharing a piano bench in Italy.

Timmy would remember later, only after finding his notes and rehearsing when a late night missed call from Armie felt too hard to face. He played each piece through before calling him back, never mentioning it.

When he was caught playing them later, Armie didn't ask how he remembered, when he remembered, if someone else had helped. He didn't like to be disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally the end, and honestly it's still an ending I'm content with. 
> 
> However, there's one more moment of music I can't ignore. Any guesses? Hoping to write an epilogue asap!


End file.
